Behind the Scenes, Part II

Continuing on from the previous post, this is the second in a series of posts that discuss the general principles important to those in the world of Early Music.

2. Use of autograph manuscripts or first editions

What would a Harry Potter fanatic not give for the original handwritten pages, created in an Edinburgh café, of J. K. Rowling's first novel! To see the process by which she turned her ideas into the finished product that made her a squintillionaire, to feel that closer connection to the author's thoughts. Or to have in one's hands a copy of the first edition just so you can open it and have the satisfaction of seeing "10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1" on the inside page...ahh, bliss.  

When it comes to music, having access to either the original autograph score in the composer's own handwriting or the first edition can mean much more than just collector's excitement at owning something rare. In many cases, studying the original manuscript (or at least a facsimile of it) is the only way of knowing for sure what the composer wrote. This can be a significant issue if one compares an autograph manuscript with all the subsequent printed editions. It can also be a liberating experience to see editorial articulations, changes and suggestions stripped away to reveal the original notes and markings.

As an example, compare the slurring indications in the following two scores, of the Andante from Bach's A minor Sonata for solo violin, BWV 1003. The first is the original manuscript score in Bach's very own handwriting (click to enlarge).

The first slurs in Bach's manuscript occur not until the end of the second line, over the eight 32nd notes, and the beginning of the third line, over five notes. There are a few other similar slurs in the very last line of the movement as well. Now check out the second measure of the fourth line: crammed into the last quarter-note beat you can see specific slurs notated over both sets of falling thirds. This is the only time in the whole movement Bach notates slurs over pairs of sixteenth notes. Finally, in the third measure of the last line, there are what look like slurs (although not particularly well marked), over the second and third pairs of eight notes. [oops - a day after posting this, I have realised that these eighth note 'slurs' are actually quarter note rests for the top voice]

Now take a look at one of the most commonly used modern editions edited by Ivan Galamian (click to enlarge). As you can see, Galamian has added slurs throughout the entire movement, on every sixteenth-note pair, with a few rare exceptions. In the midst of all these slurs, the two very specific slurs that Bach did notate over the falling thirds have now become insignificant. 

Any violinist reading this post knows why Galamian has made this choice. It is in fact a seemingly instinctive, natural and logical choice. By adding slurs to the sixteenth-note pairs in the melody, the eighth-note walking bass line moves steadily and comfortably in a down-bow, up-bow motion. Even if you throw away Galamian's edition and play from the manuscript score with its absence of slurs, the violinistic instinct just yearns to add them in anyway, perhaps on the repeats for the sake of gentle ornamentation. But maybe Bach had in mind something that goes against the natural instinct. He was himself a violinist and wrote plenty of genuine slurs throughout his scores. Why would he so obviously leave them out of a movement in which we would now expect to see them all over the place? I believe that not slurring allows much more freedom and variation in how one inflects and controls the speaking quality of the melody.

Whatever we violinists choose to do, the availability of the manuscript score compels us, hopefully, to experiment with Bach's original markings and see where they lead us. 

Manuscripts can, of course, provide more than just squabbles over a particular slur here or a particular note there, as I will show in later posts. And, since manuscripts are often written hurriedly, and always by humans, there are plenty of mistakes to be found, which modern editions often sensibly correct. But whenever I play from a modern edition - no matter how carefully it's been edited - I always feel curiously bound by what's in front of me. It's as if the decision making has been made for me and I'm now restricted to doing what I see on the page. Since playing frequently from facsimile editions in the last couple of years, I have also come to find modern editions unattractive to look at. So long as a manuscript part is legible and as far as it's practicable, I far prefer to play from it than to use a modern version with its perfectly straight lines and evenly spaced notes. With a manuscript score in front of me, that closer connection to the composer as human translates into the way I try to shape and express notes, or flow through a phrase. Maybe it's just a trick of the brain, but I'll take it.

Click on the link below to explore a fantastic collection of manuscripts online.

Juilliard online manuscript collection